This Old Town
by alynwa
Summary: Written for the LJ Song Story Challenge, the prompt is Kenny Rogers' song "Twenty Years Ago."


Napoleon was literally watching Illya's back as the Russian stood gazing at the Dneiper River. Ever since they had arrived in Kiev earlier that day with Mr. Waverly, the Russian had been quiet and withdrawn. They had been part of a meeting in which Waverly, Soviet Premier Nikita Krushchev and some representatives from the KGB were discussing possible joint ventures between them and UNCLE. Though the Russian had answered every question put to him by his fellow countrymen, he had volunteered nothing and seemed content to have his CEA and the head of UNCLE North America take the lead. When the meeting had concluded, the Old Man and the Premier headed off to lunch and the KGB contingent headed off to parts unknown.

Waverly's entire Section III bodyguard unit had also traveled to the Soviet Union, so they were not needed to provide security. They were leaving the next day for Spain, so they had the rest of the day and night free. Napoleon had originally envisioned spending the time exploring, eating and possibly meeting a couple of young ladies to keep them company. They had been partnered for just over a year and were on the way to a personal relationship that he hoped would be as good or better than their working relationship. On missions, the chemistry between them served them well, but during downtime, Napoleon and Illya were still in the "getting to know you" phase. Getting the Russian to open up was like pulling teeth.

"Illya?"

"Yes?"

"You've been awfully quiet ever since we got here. Are you all right? I want to check Kiev out while we have free time. Have you ever been to Kiev?"

Illya, who had not turned around to answer his partner, sighed heavily and stepped away from the river's edge. Coming to stand next to the American he said, "I was born in Kiev. I am Ukrainian."

The CEA's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought you were Russian!"

"Americans lump together all citizens of the USSR into Russians. It is easier to just go along with it than to explain constantly that Kiev is part of the USSR, but not part of Russia." He blew into his hands to warm them and then stuck them into his coat pockets. "I have not been back in twenty years. Much has changed. The Great War destroyed blocks and blocks."

"Maybe you could point out things you remember, unless that would be too upsetting for you," Napoleon suggested. "Otherwise, I can just wander around by myself and meet you back at the hotel for dinner."

Illya smiled for what Napoleon thought was the first time that day. "And leave Kiev vulnerable to your American ways? I better accompany you."

The two men began to walk toward Volodymyrska Hill and Illya made mention briefly that before the war, his parents used to bring him and his siblings there to play. He pointed out places he thought looked vaguely familiar. Napoleon listened to Illya's narrative with great interest; this was the most he had ever heard about his partner's past.

They exited the park and headed down Mykaila Hrushevskoho Street until they arrived in front of the National Art Museum of the Ukraine. "I had an aunt who worked here before the war. I came here once with my mother. That was a lifetime ago; it almost seems to have happened to someone else." He didn't move to go into the museum, he just stood there lost in his memories.

Napoleon watched him for a few moments. "Illya, what happened to your aunt?"

The blond's hair pointed downward as his head tilted forward. "The same thing that happened to the rest of my family, the war took them. All of them. My parents, siblings, my aunt, cousins; all dead."

"I'm so sorry, Illya. I didn't realize this place held so many bad memories."

Illya had started walking again and Napoleon matched his pace. "Kiev does hold bad memories, Napoleon. The deaths of my family members, the bombings, the war. But this is my hometown. I _do_ have good memories of this place. I remember playing hide and seek with my sisters and brother, I remember how Papa would tickle me when I asked too many questions, that park, the museum. How Mama used to kiss us goodnight…" He stopped and his cheeks glowed red. "I am sorry, Napoleon, I did not mean to burden you with my problems. My memories of Kiev should not be yours."

The American slung his arm around the smaller man's shoulders. "Partner, your feelings are not a burden. I feel honored that you chose to share them with me. I feel _proud_ that you feel that you can share them with me. I have a suggestion: Let's take advantage of the fact that Accounting signed off on us staying at the Grand Hotel with Mr. Waverly by heading back to our room, ordering obscene amounts of room service food and liquor, watching television while we eat and drink ourselves into oblivion and call it an early night. Our flight is ten AM tomorrow. What do you say?"

"I say that is a fine idea. Thank you, Napoleon."

"For what?"

"For letting me talk about some of my memories. You are the first person I have spoken to about Kiev and my family…the first person I have trusted enough to see that part of me. Being here was difficult. You made it bearable."

Napoleon glowed inwardly from the compliment. He smiled thinking that this trip had moved their partnership and friendship to a new level of trust. "You're welcome, Tovarisch."


End file.
